“Reverend Father,” she said, “I am grateful for thy counsel; and, believe me, am well advised of the truth and solemnity of the words I speak.  But I cannot aid his Grace, and these his subjects, in their decision as to the prisoner’s sentence.  My evidence is valueless.  I belong to that race whose word is never taken as witness, for or against, in a court of justice.  I cannot take the oath required, for I deny the faith in which it is administered.  I am a JEWESS!”

A wild cry, in every variety of intonation—­astonishment, horror, wrath, and perhaps terror, ran through the hall—­from Sovereign, Noble, Monk, and Citizen, simultaneously.  Father Francis staggered back several paces, as if there were contamination in remaining by her side, and then stood as rooted to the ground, his hand convulsively grasping the crucifix which had nearly fallen from his hold; his lips apart, his nostrils slightly distended, and his eyes almost starting from their sockets, in the horrified and astonished gaze he fixed upon the pale and fragile being who had dared speak such impious words.  The attendant fathers rose simultaneously, and formed a semicircle round their superior, ready, at his slightest signal, to hurl down on her the anathema of the church; reverence to the Sub-Prior alone preventing the curse from instantly bursting forth.  The nobles, the Associated Brethren, Ferdinand himself, started almost unconsciously to their feet, and an eager rush brought many of the citizens still nearer to the scene of action.  The prisoner, with an irresistible impulse, darted forwards, and ere any one had recovered from his trance of bewilderment, had flung himself at Marie’s feet.

“Marie!  Marie!” he exclaimed, in a voice so hoarse and choked, its words were heard by her alone.  “Oh! why hast thou done this?  Why not take the required oath, and condemn me at once?  Marie, I am unworthy of such self-sacrifice!”

“Ha! didst thou slay him then?  Have I judged thee too kindly, Arthur,” she answered; and the hand she laid heavily on his shoulder trembled so violently, it was evident she had thus placed it only to save her from sinking to the ground, for the unnatural strength had gone.

“No!” he exclaimed, in a tone and with a look that satisfied her at once, and there was no time for more.  The King had perceived that the Sub-Prior was recovering composure, and with it energy of action; though himself a zealous Catholic, he felt compelled to save Marie.  “Hold! hold!” he said hastily, as Father Francis was about to speak.  “Reverend Father, we pray thee, be not over hasty in this matter; these are strange and terrible words; but they are meaningless; they must be.  Her misery has turned her brain; she is mad; heed her not; be silent all of ye!  See how she glares upon the prisoner!  Is that the look of sanity?  By St. Francis, we have done wrong to call her hither!  Stand back, good fathers.  Remove the prisoner; and let Donna Marie be conducted from the hall.  Our Consort should have warned us of this!”